Shirley

“I think not, my dear.”

“And nothing for the wounded – no linen, no wine, no bedding?”

“I think not. I cannot tell what Mrs. Gill did; but it seemed impossible to me, at the moment, to venture to dispose of your property by sending supplies to soldiers. Provisions for a company of soldiers sounds formidable. How many there are I did not ask; but I could not think of allowing them to pillage the house, as it were. I intended to do what was right, yet I did not see the case quite clearly, I own.”

“It lies in a nutshell, notwithstanding. These soldiers have risked their lives in defence of my property: I suppose they have a right to my gratitude. The wounded are our fellow creatures: I suppose we should aid them. – Mrs. Gill!”

She turned, and called in a voice more clear than soft. It rang through the thick oak of the hall and kitchen doors more effectually than a bell’s summons. Mrs. Gill, who was deep in bread-making, came with hands and apron in culinary case, not having dared to stop to rub the dough from the one or to shake the flour from the other. Her mistress had never called a servant in that voice save once before, and that was when she had seen from the window Tartar in full tug with two carriers’ dogs, each of them a match for him in size, if not in courage, and their masters standing by, encouraging their animals, while hers was unbefriended. Then indeed she had summoned John as if the Day of Judgment were at hand. Nor had she waited for the said John’s coming, but had walked out into the lane bonnetless, and after informing the carriers that she held them far less of men than the three brutes whirling and worrying in the dust before them, had put her hands round the thick neck of the largest of the curs, and given her whole strength to the essay of choking it from Tartar’s torn and bleeding eye, just above and below which organ the vengeful fangs were inserted. Five or six men were presently on the spot to help her, but she never thanked one of them. “They might have come before if their will had been good,” she said. She had not a word for anybody during the rest of the day, but sat near the hall fire till evening watching and tending Tartar, who lay all gory, stiff, and swelled on a mat at her feet. She wept furtively over him sometimes, and murmured the softest words of pity and endearment, in tones whose music the old, scarred, canine warrior acknowledged by licking her hand or her sandal alternately with his own red wounds. As to John, his lady turned a cold shoulder on him for a week afterwards.

Mrs. Gill, remembering this little episode, came “all of a tremble,” as she said herself. In a firm, brief voice Miss Keeldar proceeded to put questions and give orders. That at such a time Fieldhead should have evinced the inhospitality of a miser’s hovel stung her haughty spirit to the quick; and the revolt of its pride was seen in the heaving of her heart, stirred stormily under the lace and silk which veiled it.

“How long is it since that message came from the mill?”

“Not an hour yet, ma’am,” answered the housekeeper soothingly.

“Not an hour! You might almost as well have said not a day. They will have applied elsewhere by this time. Send a man instantly down to tell them that everything this house contains is at Mr. Moore’s, Mr. Helstone’s, and the soldiers’ service. Do that first.”

While the order was being executed, Shirley moved away from her friends, and stood at the hall-window, silent, unapproachable. When Mrs. Gill came back, she turned. The purple flush which painful excitement kindles on a pale cheek glowed on hers; the spark which displeasure lights in a dark eye fired her glance.

“Let the contents of the larder and the wine cellar be brought up, put into the hay carts, and driven down to the Hollow. If there does not happen to be much bread or much meat in the house, go to the butcher and baker, and desire them to send what they have. But I will see for myself.”

She moved off.

“All will be right soon; she will get over it in an hour,” whispered Caroline to Mrs. Pryor. “Go upstairs, dear madam,” she added affectionately, “and try to be as calm and easy as you can. The truth is, Shirley will blame herself more than you before the day is over.”

By dint of a few more gentle assurances and persuasions, Miss Helstone contrived to soothe the agitated lady. Having accompanied her to her apartment, and promised to rejoin her there when things were settled, Caroline left her to see, as she said, “if she could be useful.” She presently found that she could be very useful; for the retinue of servants at Fieldhead was by no means numerous, and just now their mistress found plenty of occupation for all the hands at her command, and for her own also. The delicate good-nature and dexterous activity which Caroline brought to the aid of the housekeeper and maids – all somewhat scared by their lady’s unwonted mood – did a world of good at once; it helped the assistants and appeased the directress. A chance glance and smile from Caroline moved Shirley to an answering smile directly. The former was carrying a heavy basket up the cellar stairs.

“This is a shame!” cried Shirley, running to her. “It will strain your arm.”

She took it from her, and herself bore it out into the yard. The cloud of temper was dispelled when she came back; the flash in her eye was melted; the shade on her forehead vanished. She resumed her usual cheerful and cordial manner to those about her, tempering her revived spirits with a little of the softness of shame at her previous unjust anger.

She was still superintending the lading of the cart, when a gentleman entered the yard and approached her ere she was aware of his presence.

“I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?” he said, examining with rather significant scrutiny her still flushed face.

She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment without reply. A pleasant enough smile played on her lips, but she hid it. The gentleman repeated his salutation, stooping, that it might reach her ear with more facility.

“Well enough, if she be good enough,” was the answer; “and so is Mr. Moore too, I dare say. To speak truth, I am not anxious about him; some slight mischance would be only his just due. His conduct has been – we will say strange just now, till we have time to characterize it by a more exact epithet. Meantime, may I ask what brings him here?”

“Mr. Helstone and I have just received your message that everything at Fieldhead was at our service. We judged, by the unlimited wording of the gracious intimation, that you would be giving yourself too much trouble. I perceive our conjecture was correct. We are not a regiment, remember – only about half a dozen soldiers and as many civilians. Allow me to retrench something from these too abundant supplies.”

Miss Keeldar blushed, while she laughed at her own over-eager generosity and most disproportionate calculations. Moore laughed too, very quietly though; and as quietly he ordered basket after basket to be taken from the cart, and remanded vessel after vessel to the cellar.

“The rector must hear of this,” he said; “he will make a good story of it. What an excellent army contractor Miss Keeldar would have been!” Again he laughed, adding, “It is precisely as I conjectured.”

“You ought to be thankful,” said Shirley, “and not mock me. What could I do? How could I gauge your appetites or number your band? For aught I knew, there might have been fifty of you at least to victual. You told me nothing; and then an application to provision soldiers naturally suggests large ideas.”

“It appears so,” remarked Moore, levelling another of his keen, quiet glances at the discomfited Shirley. – “Now,” he continued, addressing the carter, “I think you may take what remains to the Hollow. Your load will be somewhat lighter than the one Miss Keeldar destined you to carry.”

As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying her spirits, demanded what had become of the wounded.

“There was not a single man hurt on our side,” was the answer.

“You were hurt yourself, on the temples,” interposed a quick, low voice – that of Caroline, who, having withdrawn within the shade of the door, and behind the large person of Mrs. Gill, had till now escaped Moore’s notice. When she spoke, his eye searched the obscurity of her retreat.

“Are you much hurt?” she inquired.

“As you might scratch your finger with a needle in sewing.”

“Lift your hair and let us see.”

He took his hat off, and did as he was bid, disclosing only a narrow slip of court-plaster. Caroline indicated, by a slight movement of the head, that she was satisfied, and disappeared within the clear obscure of the interior.

“How did she know I was hurt?” asked Moore.

“By rumour, no doubt. But it is too good in her to trouble herself about you. For my part, it was of your victims I was thinking when I inquired after the wounded. What damage have your opponents sustained?”

“One of the rioters, or victims as you call them, was killed, and six were hurt.”

“What have you done with them?”

“What you will perfectly approve. Medical aid was procured immediately; and as soon as we can get a couple of covered wagons and some clean straw, they will be removed to Stilbro.’”

“Straw! You must have beds and bedding. I will send my wagon directly, properly furnished; and Mr. Yorke, I am sure, will send his.”

“You guess correctly; he has volunteered already. And Mrs. Yorke – who, like you, seems disposed to regard the rioters as martyrs, and me, and especially Mr. Helstone, as murderers – is at this moment, I believe, most assiduously engaged in fitting it up with feather beds, pillows, bolsters, blankets, etc. The victims lack no attentions, I promise you. Mr. Hall, your favourite parson, has been with them ever since six o’clock, exhorting them, praying with them, and even waiting on them like any nurse; and Caroline’s good friend, Miss Ainley, that very plain old maid, sent in a stock of lint and linen, something in the proportion of another lady’s allowance of beef and wine.”

“That will do. Where is your sister?”

“Well cared for. I had her securely domiciled with Miss Mann. This very morning the two set out for Wormwood Wells [a noted watering place], and will stay there some weeks.”

“So Mr. Helstone domiciled me at the rectory! Mighty clever you gentlemen think you are! I make you heartily welcome to the idea, and hope its savour, as you chew the cud of reflection upon it, gives you pleasure. Acute and astute, why are you not also omniscient? How is it that events transpire, under your very noses, of which you have no suspicion? It should be so, otherwise the exquisite gratification of out manoeuvring you would be unknown. Ah, friend, you may search my countenance, but you cannot read it.”

Moore, indeed, looked as if he could not.

“You think me a dangerous specimen of my sex. Don’t you now?”

“A peculiar one, at least.”

“But Caroline – is she peculiar?”

“In her way – yes.”

“Her way! What is her way?”

“You know her as well as I do.”

“And knowing her, I assert that she is neither eccentric nor difficult of control. Is she?”